


Misfire Omakes (Canonical & G/Teen)

by Night-Mare (Aoife)



Series: Misfire(s) [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Check Chapter Titles for Ratings/POVs/Pairings, Crossdressing Sawada Tsunayoshi, Delayed Start to Canon, Implied/Referenced Relationship(s): Tsuna/Kyōya, Implied/Referenced Relationship(s): Tsuna/Takeshi, Innuendo, Mist Hayato (Reborn!), Nonbinary Gokudera Hayato, Nonbinary Sawada Tsunayoshi, Original Character: Gabriella di Cavallone, Other, chapters individually rated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29430240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoife/pseuds/Night-Mare
Summary: Reborn's plan was clearly meant to humiliate him.It fails.(Cross-dressing as self-defence. It's not the strangest lesson anyone's learnt from Reborn. Probably. Maybe. Almost Certainly.)1. Hayato's Arrival & Capture - T/Gen - POV Hayato2. Ransom & Shamal's Secret - T/Gen (Hayato & Shamal, Tsuyoshi & Shamal) - POV Shamal3. Spar & Dinner - T/Gen (Dino & Kyōya) - POV Dino4. Bone Healing, Wednesday & Sicily - T/Gen (Dino & his Own, Dino & Timoteo) - POV Dino
Series: Misfire(s) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145372
Comments: 74
Kudos: 120





	1. Hayato's Arrival & Capture - Teen - Gen (No Pairing) - POV Hayato

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Misfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158404) by [Night-Mare (Aoife)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoife/pseuds/Night-Mare). 



> [*] follow to find a link to an explicit AU omake starting from this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The omake begins slightly before the fic 'proper', but predominantly covers from the very end of [Chapter 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158404/chapters/72118854) through the whole of [Chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158404/chapters/72235230).

Namimori is weird.

He’d expected it to be unfamiliar. (He loved Japanese culture, but when he’d looked up the town he’d been summoned to, he’d been terrified he would be out of his depth; it was well outside of any of the major metropolitan areas, which meant their tolerance of a half-gaijin’s eccentricities was likely to be limited, at best.) But this was something else; he’d caught some episodes of an American tv show, and he was fairly sure that ‘Sunnydale syndrome’ was an accurate description of the issue.

There was a Cloud camped out at the school. (A terrifyingly strong Cloud. Far stronger than Don Vongola’s Visconti.) He’d seen a teen with a Flame artefact (a fucking _sword_ ) strapped to his back that no-one commented on. There was a Mist, somewhere in the town - an insanely powerful one. And the information about the town hadn’t mentioned the (protected with Flames) shrine or the fucking Flame-drenched _castle_ ruins in the park (which did at least make a good temporary camping spot). What the hell had Reborn gotten him into? And what (he'd been observing the school) the fuck was Don Cavallone doing teaching English? Didn’t he have a fucking Family to run?!

* * *

“ _Kamikorosu_.” The word is said quietly; it’s carried to his ears by a tiny thread of Mist Flames, and _every_ hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He drops his spy-glass into the working on his bracer, and slides out of the tree; either the Mist or the Cloud knew he was there, and considered him a threat, and he _really_ didn’t want to get caught by them. He bolts, his own Flames coming to his aid, running past one of the pompadour’d teens (a hand raises to the teen’s ear), and he slips down an alleyway and tries to picture the map he’d memorised. He wasn’t sure how accurate it was; the Mist resident in the town was incredibly, ridiculously strong and invested in their own privacy. (He’d met Mammon once. They had to be their equal.)

The answer is it’s not at all accurate.

He’s hopelessly lost. (The Cloud is still on his heels; he can feel his killing intent, and he’s not sure _what_ he did to set him off. He hadn’t even set foot on his territory! Unless the Sky he’d been looking for had been inside the school somewhere? He knew that there were relatively solid rumours about Cavallone having a Cloud, even if no-one had met them, so it couldn’t be about the Don masquerading as a teacher.)

He’s also being herded; there are other Flame Actives moving around him, and his own instincts _snarl_ , and he pushes himself to move faster, to pull away just long enough to make himself hard to see or to find a defensive position where he could force his pursuers to reveal themselves, and hopefully force them to back off (he has smoke bombs, with a nasty pepper under-note he could shrug off; they’d dissuade most people from closing before he could slip away).

Except before he can make a stand, he’s pulled up short by Rain Flames and a grip on his collar and the distracting, enchanting presence of a second artefact like the one he’s seen being carried by the teenager he’d spotted earlier; he tries to fight the Rain Flames, but they’re at least as strong and as deep as those of the Superbi spare running the Varia (he’d been there when Squalo had made an attempt to recruit Shamal), and he’s got a breadth of Flame, not depth, to work with.

“Lemme go!” He wriggles, trying to get free of the grip on his collar, and fighting the Rain Flames with all the Storm he can scrape together. He’s lifted by his collar and shaken gently; it makes it clear that he’s been caught and he goes limp. “I wasn’t _doing_ anything.”

“I believe you. But my oi-chan is hyper-reactive to threats, given his Sky’s vulnerabilities, so we’re going to go back to my restaurant, you’re going to get paid for an afternoon of kitchen work, and then we’re going to discuss why you’re in Namimori, Smoking Bomb. If it is to assassinate my son’s Sky, I’ll have you escorted to Chisote, and if you return, you won’t get a second chance.” His captor doesn’t even give him a chance to protest or escape; he’s carried relatively effortlessly. (Fine. He’s underweight. He knows he is. But he’d challenge anyone to keep weight on when Bianchi would not stop tampering with your fucking food! Every time he starts to put weight on she appears like a bad penny, and it drops straight back off him again.)

He’s dropped on a stool in a restaurant kitchen (he’s not sure he’d survive getting up off it, yet) and then he gets his first good look at his captor. “ _Autumn Rain?!_ I thought you were, well, dead.” His captor’s lips twitch. “You’ve not been in any of the bingo books for a decade -”

“- I retired from taking hits and stayed out of Sicily. I assure you; I’ve kept my skills sharp. And call me Tsuyoshi, child.” Given the typhoon raging around him, he’s willing to believe that. “So what _are_ you doing in Namimori -?”

“Hayato.” He fills in the pause. “Reborn offered me a contract, and well, you don’t say no to the Arcobaleno as an independent. And I knew Zio Shamal was somewhere in Japan and I need to talk to him if I can do so without setting off his flight reflex. So I hit two birds with one stone.” He chews his lip. “But the briefing Reborn sent me last month makes no sense? There was nothing about this being a clan town, and it clearly _is_. And Cavallone’s here, rather than pampering his herd and occasionally terrifying people in Sicily -”

“- your uncle has been a regular here since he arrived in Namimori, Hayato. You can join him for dinner this evening after you’ve worked your way through the ingredient preparation I’m going to ask you to do.” He blinks. “I’ll put him in the private room; Hibari-kun used it last, so it’s well laced with my Flames.”

“He’s _here_?"

“I’m assuming Reborn originally blackmailed him into coming to Japan to keep his latest chew-toy in tip-top condition; I know from conversations with him that he used him to handle Cavallone’s worst injuries when he was training him, despite your ojisan’s justifiable issues with treating men.” He makes a disbelieving sound; Autumn Rain’s Flames press against him briefly, heavy and threatening, a Cloud secondary more robust than most of those proclaimed Clouds in Italy clearly riled by his dismissal of his uncle’s ‘problem’. “In vino veritas, Hayato-kun,” he makes a face. “I have a truth-sense to rival most non-Vongola Skies, though I suspect, after ten years of Reborn’s bullshit, Don Cavallone’s is probably more accurate.” The typhoon stills, but he stays _very_ still. It feels more like the eye than it petering out. 

He grumbles, but acquiesces.

“Now. I’m assuming if I give you some basic instructions, you can keep your ass sat on that stool and do some work for me, ne?” He nods. “Good. Don’t worry; I pay my kitchen staff well, Hayato. Let’s say ¥3.2K for the afternoon and two meals if you behave _and_ are economical with your work.” That was far more generous than he had been expecting. “Now. You’re probably not used to sashimi; would you like to try some, or would you prefer a katsu curry before you start work? I have some leftover in the fridge, and it’ll only need a few minutes to put us both a plate together.”

* * *

“Tadaima, Tsuna-chan; my silly son isn’t here if you were looking for him?” He _almost_ freezes. He’d been sure the doors that the pretty brunette had just walked through had been locked (someone had tried them half an hour earlier, and been waved off by Autumn Rain).

“Hiiieee!” The squeak is amusing; Autumn Rain clearly agrees, given the laughter.

“You’re my son’s Sky; at least as far as most of the Ukiyo is concerned, we’re family.” He does freeze this time. There was a Sky. With _no_ escort less than fifteen-foot away from him. He couldn’t feel a single whisp of Flame from her though, which was thoroughly confusing; the few times he’d been within a hundred feet of a Sky he’d been _very_ aware of them, even though they’d had all but a Mist, and been _achingly_ polite about their Flames. He’d thought that Reborn was tutoring a male Sky though? He wasn’t an appropriate tutor for a Donna-to-be. He makes himself resume his task; he doesn’t really want Tsuyoshi to remember he’s there. He’s genuinely interested in what’s going on in Namimori. “I’m assuming you’re not just here for some dinner, though I’m happy to prepare something for you.”

“Kaa-chan was preparing something this morning, so I wasn’t even looking for dinner, Tsuyoshi-sama -” the Sky’s voice is low and sweet. Lower than he’d have expected, but that was human variation, right?

“- Tsuyoshi-ji will do from you, Tsuna-chan. Unless Takeshi talks you into marrying him, and then we can renegotiate, Sky-of-my-child.”

“Hiiieee!” Autumn Rain laughs at the repetition of the exclamation, and puts a bowl of vegetable sticks in front of his … daughter-in-law? He was fairly sure that’s how the Rain-chef-assassin would describe the relationship, even if the Sky in question wouldn’t. Yet. “Now I know where Takeshi-kun gets it from, Tsuyoshi-oji.” The Sky pauses. “… does he normally fail at reading social cues, oji-san, or does he read them and just not care?”

Huh. Was Autumn Rain’s son not a Rain? That would be the sort of scandal that would explain the man disappearing to raise his son. Especially as that sort of social fail was a very _Electric_ tendency; he couldn’t see the man who had fed him and put him to work being happy with the idea of his son being broken the way it was seemingly fashionable to break Lightnings at the moment. (It had been Storms before the Wars - and the developments in forensics - had made them useful again, and Mists in the nineteenth century, when Daemon’s insanity had still been fresh.)

“Both, which is partially his late mother’s fault, and partially mine.” He pointedly concentrates on chopping the scallions he’s preparing (he’s three-quarters of the way through his list of tasks, and Autumn Rain has _opinions_ on how they should be prepared). “I assume he did something that has you asking?”

“I spent a lot of time invisible at Nami-chuu, Tsuyoshi-oji. The girls talked in front of me - which is why I know how to do basic makeup and put a bra on and a whole bundle of other things - and he doesn’t even register what it does to my fragile reputation when he drags me off and hides me away for lunch.” He’s confused. Really, genuinely confused. Why would the pretty Sky talking to his captor need to be invisible to learn about bras and makeup and ‘other’ things?! “I suspect that Hibari-senpai putting me in Murasaki-iro didn’t help, but no-one will dare suggest I’m fucking him, whilst people are already asking me what kissing Takeshi is like.” (If she was being put in Murasaki-iro clothing by an older student, that was probably the Cloud he’d felt, and that would explain the severity of the response he’d gotten.)

Autumn Rain sighs. “That’s him being willfully blind; he knows how to read the room, and he should be prioritising your safety over his wants. Tsuna-chan. I’ll have a discussion with him.” The Sky slumps in relief. “If that fails, I may have to take advantage of a favour I’m owed; curbing bouts of idiocy can sometimes be complicated by close familial relationships, even when an apprenticeship formalises things.” There’s an additional, silent exchange, but he misses most of the context, he suspects. Japanese body language doesn’t map perfectly to the model he’s used to.

“I … I did have my Flames when I was little, Tsuyoshi-oji. I remember them.” Autumn Rain hisses. “Dino-senpai -” he blinks; that suffix made no sense, surely _she_ wasn’t Reborn’s new chew-toy? Maybe he’d misheard her use ‘sensei’? “- checked, and he found at least one block? He was so mad about something to do with it that he said he was going to go and offer himself up to Hibari-senpai for a sparring match.”

“A block?” A block that made a Sky like Cavallone match himself against the strongest person in the immediate vicinity to vent Rage was no block. It was more likely a Seal - which would explain why he couldn’t feel her. “I’ll ask your … senpai -“ Autumn Rain had repeated the suffix, so no, that hadn’t been a mistake, ”- about it, Tsuna-chan. But combined with Eiko’s murder, it would explain some of Takeshi’s … eccentricities, if he was deprived of his Sky. And that would also explain why Reborn wanted a ‘friendly-but-not-related’ Sky in Japan to remedy the issue, to be honest.”

(The room feels like the moment before a typhoon hits. It’s terrifying; he’s never felt a Rain so strong, even when he’d been stumbled across the Varia Commander in the process of performing a bloody, rage-filled hit. Then Autumn Rain shakes himself and the feeling retreats, and he resumes his chopping again; he hadn’t realised he’d stopped.)

“Sorry, Tsuna-chan. Why don’t you head home; I should ask my apprentice-chef if he can handle the restaurant tonight. I clearly need to meditate and force my silly son to do the same, and then explain himself. Especially before he starts indulging himself further at your expense.” Autumn Rain pauses, clearly contemplating something. “Did you enjoy the otōro, Tsuna-chan?”

“I did.” The Sky’s eyes flick to the clock, and he sees the panic hit even before the exclamation escapes her. “Hiiieee! I’m going to be late; Reborn was insistent we needed to work on my maths homework before dinner!” The Sky flees the restaurant, much to Autumn Rain’s apparent amusement, and he lifts his head from his work; curiosity is his besetting sin, and he _has_ to ask.

“Reborn’s not an appropriate tutor for a female Sky.” Autumn Rain spins, his lips thin, and he flinches, expecting to be hit.

“No. No, he’s not. And you’re my … hostage, in the older sense, Hayato. I’ve never abused a prisoner, and I have no intention of starting with you. So stop looking quite so terrified. I was well aware you were there, and that you could hear our conversation; your responses were very telling, and you certainly weren’t here to kill her, were you?” He shakes his head; Autumn Rain’s lips twitch. “I suspect if she had access to her Flames and you’d tried, you’d have been swept up in a battle-bond before you could throw more than a single stick of dynamite. But, as she doesn’t, you’d probably be dead before it left your hand; my son is her left hand, and he’s _very_ much of our line.”

“Hostage?” He asks the question warily, but he also draws his Flames back from under his skin.

“I’ll be returning you to your uncle’s custody the moment he deigns to show himself, Hayato-kun. And extracting a favour or three from him, so he doesn’t get ridiculously prickly about you being shown mercy on his behalf.” He meeps, and Autumn Rain’s lips curve in clear amusement. “He’s not been treated well in Italy, has he?” He bites his lip and the Rain sighs. “Given his aversion … it would explain why every time my son’s new sensei had come within a block of us in the last few days, he’s been ready to bolt. I doubt, having met Cavallone-dono, that he’s the _actual_ cause, but I’m guessing it was another Sky.”

He shrugs. Shamal’s _always_ been skittish, and it had hurt when it had extended to him, too, as he’d hit puberty. Though the few times he’d run into his uncle while … disguised, the man had visibly relaxed, and talked to him, well, normally. (Fuck it, he should be honest with himself; he’d put a dress on to evade Bianchi’s ‘Hayato’-radar. It was surprisingly effective, though he still avoided getting too close to her. Shamal had always known it was him, though.)

Autumn Rain makes his own face. “I’ll have to see if I can get more out of him, especially given Cavallone is starting the very earliest stage of the Italian-style Sky-to-Guardian overtures, and I’m tempted.”

He chews his lip. Cross-dressing was taboo in Japan (well, outside of certain very limited situations, like cosplay), but … “Would it be possible to borrow a kimono and obi, Tsuyoshi-sama? I think I need to, um, try something.” Autumn Rain tilts his head and makes an interrogative sound. He flushes and mentally curses his pale skin.

The Rain’s lips quirk. “Oh, you really are meant to be Tsuna-chan’s, aren’t you, Smoking Bomb?” He makes a squeaky sound. “… and that sound only confirms it. Yes, I think I can find you one of my son’s old kimono. And an appropriate obi; it’ll be a rather … childish pattern, shall we say? He hasn’t been your height since he was ten, if I remember correctly.” He isn’t _that_ short, is he? “He’s about to hit six-foot, Hayato-chan. He was five-nine when he started _middle_ school.” … he tries to school his face. He fails, judging by Autumn Rain’s amusement. “You might even be the same height as Tsuna is … and her height makes no sense, given her father is six foot four, and even her mother is slightly taller than her.” Autumn Rain is clearly thinking out loud. “I suspect both of you need to be fattened up, though if so, I’ll let Shamal set the menu.” The man shakes his head. “Can I leave you unsupervised while I find you a kimono?”

“… the Cloud I’ve accidentally annoyed is only a _block_ away. I’m staying put.” Autumn Rain laughs.

“You could have just said yes, Hayato-kun. And Kyō-kun’s not so bad, I promise.” He shudders, and the man vanishes up a stairwell he hadn’t even _noticed_ , leaving him alone to chop vegetables (and contemplate what he’d decided to do; was it just convenience, or was it something … deeper? He knew Cavallone had a femminiello sub-Boss on the mainland, so he wouldn’t protest if it was something more, and probably wouldn’t tolerate him being teased).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the beginning of [Chapter 5 of Misfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158404/chapters/72235230)


	2. Ransom & Shamal's Secret - Teen - Gen (Hayato & Shamal, Tsuyoshi & Shamal) - POV Shamal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on from the previous Omake; set between chapters 5 & 6 of the main fic.

“I’m feeling daring, Tsuyoshi.” The Rain looks up from where preparing _something_ behind the counter. “Probably even daring enough for Omakase. Well, providing you’ve got blue-fin in rather than blowfish, of course.” The Rain’s lips curve in amusement, and he cocks his head, not sure what’s so humorous about his comment. Tsuyoshi shakes his head.

“I’m still at least somewhat amused I’ve gotten you to appreciate otoro so fast. Though I suspect it’s because you know I ensure it’s _painfully_ fresh.”

He inclines his head in acknowledgement of the point.

“Unfortunately, I’m still waiting for a delivery, but I’m sure I can come up with something _appropriate_.” He twitches, and Tsuyoshi’s lips curve again. “You just told me you trust me, Shamal. If you regret your … meal, I will perform an appropriate apology, on my honour.”

He raises an eyebrow; the pause piquing his curiosity. “As long as it doesn’t involve that ridiculous blade of yours in more than a witness role. Your brat isn’t ready to carry it’s full weight yet.”

“He’s getting there. And a Sky does make Kintoki-sama easier to bear.” Tsuyoshi’s Flames ripple, interacting with a very old half-sentient territory, and his fingers itch to investigate it. “The private room I use for Kyō-kun when he invades my restaurant is vacant. It’s part territory; you’re welcome to poke at it while I put something appropriate together, but please don’t unravel it. Viper’s been adding to it in her last few visits, and I suspect she’ll take offense at any interference in her project.”

That only makes him _more_ curious. “You do remember that most Mists have a cat’s curiosity, Tsuyoshi? It’s even more of a defining feature than insanity is.” The Rain laughs.

“There’s sake in the warded cabinet and the components, including water, for green tea in the other one - and a small selection of canned pop; my silly son insists on restocking it regularly.” He knows where the room in question _is_ ; he’d watched Tsuyoshi carry platters into the space on a number of occasions. It’s the first time he’s been in there, though; he normally eats at the bar, and Tsuyoshi’s up to _something_. He’s just not sure _what_.

The green tea in the cabinet is sencha, and he raises a mental eyebrow; it tells him a lot about who normally uses the room, as do the hangings and what feels like six-inch thick tatami on the floors. He shakes his head, more than a little bemused, and hoping that Tsuyoshi isn’t about to force a meeting between him and Cavallone. (The horse-Sky had been adorable until he’d hit puberty, and then hard-work after that, for all he was well-behaved; he’d left the moment the man’s consigliere/adopted-father had become skilful enough to resurrect him from Reborn’s idea of entertainment.) He takes one of the sodas - he needed the sugar; the juvenile Cloud in residence had an entirely untrained or wilfully unleashed Mist Flame that he was going to have to persuade him to rein in - and settles onto the mats on the far side of the low table from the doorway. He trusted Tsuyoshi, but that didn’t mean he liked being back-to-the-door vulnerable.

He’s slid deep into his own Flames when there’s a soft knock on the door; he twitches his Flames in answer, the door sliding open at his demand, and Tsuyoshi enters, followed by what he assumes must be one of his serving staff. Or at least he assumes that, right up until he catches a glimpse of the individual’s face. The expression is sheepish, and his own response is whiplash-inducing; he _knows_ that his sister’s child is male and a Storm-Sky and a _threat_ , but like the few occasions he’d seen them using a sundress to hide from their father’s men, or their sister, they don’t currently register that way, at all. (And unlike Tsuyoshi’s instinctive use of Rain Flames, this isn’t an influence that he permits, just … he doesn’t know what it is.)

“I’d rather like to return an accidental hostage to you, Shamal of the Mists. I fished Hayami -” The brat had _named_ their female persona! “- out of one of the town’s back alleys before Kyōya could break her back for being a threat to either of the Skies currently under his … protection.”

He narrows his eyes - both at the brat _and_ at his host - and Hayato at least has the decency to eep and try to hide behind Tsuyoshi. “If _she_ is a ‘hostage’, then there is a price of her liberty, ne?”

“Three favours, none of them to include the treatment of men or venereal diseases.”

“… are you including pregnancy as a venereal disease?”

“It is a consequence of sex, but no. Unless it makes you uncomfortable to manage someone’s pregnancy.” His lips twitch; did Tsuyoshi really not know where he made most of his money these days? Getting a Donna through her pregnancy, happy - and healthy enough - to have another two or three brats for her Don was at least ten times as valuable as his skills as an assassin.

“I should bargain, but I value Haya- _mi_ too much for that. And no, I don’t mind indulging in one of my specialisms; it can be _very_ rewarding in a number of ways.” Hayato reappears from where he’s hidden behind Tsuyoshi, and he wonders where his nephew had found what was clearly an expensive kimono (and a dearer obi) and learned to hide his nature so well; he was almost inclined to believe he was a Mist. The meal that is laid out on the table is hot; he assumes that it’s for Hayato’s sake. His nephew’s digestive tract was touchy at best, thanks to his sister.

“Then I leave the two of you to your discussion, and I will return in an hour or so to see what else you might want to eat. Or to clean the blood up -” the comment is clearly a tease, the Rain closing the door behind him, leaving him with his nephew - his nibling? - standing nervously near the door.

“Sit down, _Hayami_ , and explain how you ended up in Namimori and hostage to Autumn Rain.”

* * *

He pokes at his Blackberry and then puts the device away. “I’ve booked you a room in Sapporo; I believe Tsuysohi’s son is heading into the city in about an hour to fetch some supplies for his father. I’m sure he’ll be willing to act as your escort/guide, and if you’re polite and curious, he’ll probably tell you all about his pretty Sky; you might even find where he’s headed a _useful_ resource.” He twitches the territory covering the room - it had only taken him about half an hour to figure out which strand Autumn Rain’s Cloud secondary paid attention to. “If you wish to return, I’ll make up a room for _Hayami_ in my apartment; if you’d rather return to Italy, I can make arrangements for you to study in Naples to keep you out of Timo’s line of fire for long enough for him to forget that he sent you to his heir.”

“I … I want to return. If you’re sure, Zio. I miss having family members that don’t want to kill me, and I think I figured out _why_ you stopped training me.” He raises an eyebrow. “We can discuss that when I, um, get back. It’s kinda involved, and I think I might be better off with an escort into Sapporo. My Japanese isn’t quite up to scratch -”

“- fine. And I can fix that when you return, brat. Sunday afternoon; starting school on Monday, when Cavallone’s returned will serve you best, I think.”

Hayato chews his lip. “Did you notice the other Mist in town, zio? Not the Cloud at the school, but the one making the town into Minos’s Labyrinth -”

“- don’t worry; I’ve yet to find an abomination at the centre of it. And no. I don’t know who the Mist is, but I know how well some of us hide in plain sight - remember that almost nobody has connected Viper and Mammon - and I have yet to meet _both_ of Hibari Kyōya’s parents. His mother is the Cloudiest Cloud I have met, even more so than Skull, yet he has a secondary Flame. I have to wonder if Fon made a bargain to save her.” His nephew (niece? nibling?) makes a face. “Another story to tell you at some point; it can wait, though.”

“You rang, Shamal?” He makes a face, and Tsuyoshi laughs. “I couldn’t resist; I suspected you’d get the reference, at least. How was dinner?”

“Delicious. Has your brat left for Sapporo, yet?”

“He’s heading in on the 18.30 express; the owner of the business he’s visiting for me is opening a little later than normal. He’ll be back on the last train.” Tsuyoshi raises an eyebrow interrogatively.

“My brat has a hotel room in Sapporo for the next few days. They could do with a guide and company en route.”

“Ah. Yes, Takeshi can do that. And my boy has a permit for his blade, so they can leave their dynamite with you, ne?” His brat looks indignant, but when he holds out his hands, puts both of his bracers in them. He’s rewarded for his obedience by the Rain. “You can return this on Sunday; it’ll mean you have a weapon, but she’s discreet enough to keep you from getting into trouble with the police.” Hayato takes the necklace (it looks ornamental, but he can _feel_ the Muramasa curse quiescent in the metal), and it expands into a tantō, then shrinks back down again, awake (and smug), and he was going to _interrogate_ the idiot later.

“Do not make me regret lending you this, but do _not_ stint on the things you need to be Hayami, brat. Fahmehdum?” He slips, and Tsuyoshi’s eyes flash, but his brat nods and takes the bank card he offers them. “Good. Now shoo; go retrieve your bündel and get your ass to the station on time.” His brat flees; it’s almost amusing, especially given how comfortable he clearly is in his kimono. “How did you guess?”

“Hayato, the clever boy, is the one who put the pieces together.” Tsuyoshi crosses to the cabinet with its sake and retrieves a bottle and two of the shallow sake dishes before settling at the table, kitty-corner to him. “Though given how quickly he jumped to ‘Hayami’ as a solution, rather than asking how I was managing to get you to return to Takesushi every night, I suspect that this is more excuse than anything else.”

“I’ve caught him in a sundress a number of times in belle Italia; he’s mostly used it to sneak past his father’s men and his sister in the past, but he _reads_ female enough not to set me off when he does so, so I’ve never called him on it. It’s why I have his tuition fees all paid up in Naples - enough for his first two PhDs - if he decides he wants to engage with formal education again.”

Tsuyoshi’s lips twitch in what’s clearly amusement, and he tilts his head in interrogatively. “If _she_ returns, Kyōya will ensure she returns to formal education. The boy is obsessive about the school system in Namimori for some reason - I mean beyond the presence of the fluff-ball masquerading as his Sky - and any attempt to coast or slack off will earn her broken bones.” His lips twitch. “The Cloudy brat should be in Tokyo, at university, but he stayed put to um, supervise, as far as I can tell.”

* * *

“… what do you _really_ think of Cavallone-dono, Shamal?”

“I wish he’d made it through puberty without his Flames developing a more … human flavour. His great-aunt had the most soothing ones, despite her Wrath.” He’s more than a little bit drunk; the sake he’s been plied with is clearly fortified, or Flames were involved in its distillation in some way. “Couldn’t tell her and her stallion apart half the time.”

“You’re going to kill me in the morning, but I need to know, Shamal. Why do you flinch from Skies and most of the rest of us, too?”

He downs the rest of his sake and glares at the man. “If you want the answer, that’s one of your favours gone, understood?”

Tsuyoshi’s lips twitch. “You’ve already given some of it away. Let me tell you what I’ve put together, and then tell me whether what I’ve missed is worth one of your favours; they’re priceless, are they not?” He nods, and the Rain weaves the pieces together - from his accidental Persian to the performative machismo, and the reference to Tiberia; to the depth and strange nature of his Flames and the name he’d chosen to take, and he curses himself at how thoroughly the man sharing the room with him has seen ‘into’ his soul. “So. What have I missed?”

The man’s phone buzzes, and Tsuyoshi checks it, responding to the message, and he puts his thoughts together in something like order. There were elements Tsuyoshi had missed (Lavina was his sister; he’d shared a womb with her, but it had been an accident, a misstep that had gotten a Flame Ghost a new body), but he’d gotten the most important parts. And no, what was left was not worth one of the favours he’d offered the man for Hayami’s sake.

“You missed a murder, a rape and about a millennium of being something like the soul of your sword, but beyond _that_ -” Tsuyoshi’s expression is wild-eyed, and he grins, a little ruefully. “- don’t worry, I doubt Kintoki-sama will follow me back into humanity; he’s very _content_ with his role. I wasn’t.”

He snaps his fingers in front of Tsuyoshi, and the man twitches. “Sorry, Shamal. I was just picturing you and Kintoki-sama.” He snorts. “Kyōya’s snapped Cavallone’s femur; the idiot’s left his primary Sun back in Sicily to run the Family while he tries to free himself from Reborn’s apron-strings.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “None of the ones he brought with him are strong enough to repair it in less than a month; I don’t think Reborn warned him about Kyō-kun.”

“I doubt he did.” He sighs. “I’ll fix the idiot-Horse. Just tell him he needs to drag himself down to the stable I know he had put in; there’s no way his Nuvola let him come to Japan without at least one horse. It should make treating him more tolerable.” Cavallone on horseback, or pampering his horses was more stallion than human, and even after puberty, even after he’d turned out to be neither androgyne nor feminine, he’d still been at least tolerable when around his herd. Tsuyoshi pulls out his phone and taps out another message, and he strokes Shigure Kintoki’s blade with a touch of his Flame, feeling the soul in the sword shiver and reach back to him.

“He’ll be waiting for you. Want me to accompany you?”

“Only if you promise not to give my secrets away, Asari no Tsuyoshi, and that you restrain yourself from attempting to stab Reborn. Doing so would hurt a very lovely Italian Sky, rather than the pest himself.” His lips twitch. “And if once his bone is whole, you want to drag Cavallone back into the house to take for a test ride, that would be no skin off _my_ nose.”


	3. Spar & Dinner - Teen - Gen (Dino & Kyōya) - POV Dino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vaguely parallel to Ransom & Shamal's Secret; set between Chapter 5 & 6 of Misfire. There's a second, which I'm 1.7K into writing, which parallels Chapter 7 and covers Dino's trip back to Sicily for, um, mayhem.

“Ah. Cavallone-dono. I’d wondered if my boy had chased you off.” Kasumi Hibari was as lithe and lethal as her son, her Flames at least the prefect’s equal, and he reins his own Flames in. (He’s got a solid bond to his own Cloud, but she’s six thousand miles away, and it’s easy to miss their bond given one part is non-human.) “He admits to being relatively impressed with your teaching abilities, Dino-san.”

“He’s, um, very _bright_ , Hibari-hime.” There are _chrysanthemums_ on her kimono. “I did bring you a little something from my estates; my Sun ensured that I had appropriate gifts for anyone who hosted me … tsumaranai mono desu ga." He lifts the beautifully wrapped cluster of three bottles out of the plain bag he’d carried from his limousine (a bottle each of their best red vintage, their own olive oil and their balsamic vinegar) and offers them to his hostess.

She takes them and then hands them off to a silent member of the house-staff, who whisks them away, and if he hadn’t read up on the relevant etiquette, he’d pout; he likes watching his hosts unwrap the gifts he gives them. Their expressions and preferences were very informative. “My wakagashira and foster-sisters are all here in Namimori - they’re accompanying me back to court in the morning. They’ll be joining us for dinner.”

He chews his lip and then shrugs mentally. “I was hoping that there might be an opportunity to spar with Kyōya-kun. I received some upsetting news and would normally spar with a friend to settle myself -”

“- a friend, Dino-san?” Kasumi leads him through the mansion - it was at least as big as his own Villa - and he sighs.

“A friend. Superbi Squalo, the current Sword Emperor. Kyōya won’t break me, Kasumi-hime …”

“Hn. That sounds like a challenge, Cavallone-sensei.” His lips twitch; his hostess looks mildly put upon. “If we’re to spar, a kimono would be inappropriate, haha-ue.”

“Your _aunts_ are here, Kyō-kun. At least change out of your school uniform and into something else. Even if you dislike the imposition, the ability to engage in the formalities will only benefit your Sky when you have to engage with his ōyabun.” The Cloud grumbles softly, but turns and retreats deeper into the manse.

“Am _I_ suitably dressed, Kasumi-hime?” Her lips twitch.

“Given my dossier on you, you’re more elegantly dressed than I expected. But then compared to some of your … colleagues, you have a better idea of appropriate for the setting than they do. Your Sun did an _excellent_ job of training you. I do think that you’re going to need to borrow a set of training clothes if you’re going to spar with my ridiculous child before we eat; you and he can make use of the onsen before we dine, too.”

“I will consider myself instructed, hime. My suit certainly wouldn’t survive sparring with Squalo; I’m assuming, given everything, that Kyōya would likely destroy it, too.” His hostess laughs. “My escort has a change of clothes in the limousine, but I wouldn’t object to the loan of what I assume is light armor, given who I’ll be sparring with.”

“You _are_ observant, Dino-san.” He trails after Kasumi through into the gardens - they’re beautiful, though he finds the scent of the cherry blossoms rather overwhelming - to an ornate pavilion, with a building he suspects is a dojo close by. “Cavallone-dono; my wagakashira, Kusakabe Setsuna; my sword-sister, Irie Tomoko, and my foster-sister, Ameko-hime.”

He squeaks (a noise resembling one he’s heard from Tsuna several times in the last few days) and executes a low bow as he realises who he’s being introduced to. “No need to be so formal, Dino-san; we’re not at Court, and I’m here to gossip with Kasumi-chan rather than to be my brother’s sister.”

“… how is my boy doing at Nami-koko, Dino-san?” The question comes from Irie Tomoko, who he now recognises as Shōichi’s mother.

“His English is excellent - I assume he’s had a native instructor, sì?” She nods, and they discuss the mis-activated Sun in his homeroom - he’s relieved to discover that his issue is being actively worked on, and offers to help if he can; a Sky could be useful in straightening out issues with activation - until Kyōya, now dressed more appropriately, trots into sight.

“Did you give your uniform to the laundry maid, Kyō-kun?” The Cloudy teen nod curtly. “Thank you.” Kyōya’s eyes flick to him. “Yes. You may steal our guest; the tension he’s carrying clearly says he _needs_ to spar almost as much as you do.” He does. His Flames are roiling, angry at what he’d found when he touched his kohai; the blocks separating Tsuna-chan from _her_ Flames were abominable, and he wanted someone, anyone, to hurt for them. “Dino-san, the dojo is _built_ to practise Flame combat in. Neither myself, nor my uncle Fēng, nor Kyōya when he throws tantrums has managed to do more than dent it. Please do not hold back when you spar with my ridiculous son; it will do him good to match himself against a fighting Sky.”

He doesn’t consider himself a fighting Sky, but he supposes he is; Reborn had forced him into that mould, and his sparring with Squalo had led to a Varia Nickname being bestowed on him when he’d been forced to kill in front of his classmate. He shakes himself and bows shallowly and excuses himself from the pavilion, following Kyōya into the presumed dojo.

“Hn. There are training clothes in the cubbies; they will resize to a certain extent.” He nods and toes off his shoes, before crossing from the doorway to the indicated cubbies - off to one side, Kyōya begins a set of stretches that are familiar, and his lips twitch as he swaps his suit for the clearly traditional garments he finds. Once he’s redressed, his whip shaken out and checked for damage, and his hold out blade’s sheath shifted to his non-dominant arm - it would double as an armguard if need be - and his pistols unloaded and secured, he turns and steps onto the dojo floor proper. (He’s not surprised when he discovers it’s a nightingale floor.)

“Ready?” Kyōya nods his head sharply, his tonfa sliding down into his hands - presumably from forearm holsters - and he loops his whip; he smiles and steps forward, his Flames eager and hungry to match the breadth of his Sky against the depth of his opponent Cloud. He breaks first; he’s normally better at this, normally able to keep his nerve until Squalo snaps, but he’s too angry, too enraged, and Kyōya grins and bends, dodging his first attempted strike with his whip. (The way Kyōya bends makes his cock twitch, and it would be far too easy to go from fight to another ‘f’, but that wasn’t what he was here for.)

He tries to keep Kyōya at ‘whip’s-length’, but the Cloud is fast and determined, and he finds himself using the sheath on his forearm and his Flames to drive him back far enough that he can make use of his primary weapon. (He _could_ make use of his whip close in, but somehow he didn’t think that Kasumi or Ameko-hime would appreciate Kyōya coming to the dinner table with a garrote-type bruising around his throat.)

The extra distance allows him to yank one of the tonfa out of his opponent’s hands, and Kyōya snarls, lunging after the weapon he’d grabbed. “Tut, tut, Kyōya. Hasn’t anyone told you that a weapon you can’t keep hold of is no weapon at all?” The Cloud snarls, and he flings the tonfa away, off the nightingale floor, and he flicks his whip again, popping the boy somewhere rather sensitive … “I thought fighting you was supposed to be a _challenge_. Squalo’s made me work harder when he was drunk off his head and grieving his Sky.”

He knows the minute that Flames outline the teen’s remaining tonfa that he’s pushed him a little too far; the replication of the weapon has his eyebrows at his hairline, and he allows his own Flames, his Sky and Lightning and even his Cloud tertiary to flow into his whip. (The moment reminds of him the spar in which Squalo figured out how to recall his spatha to his hand; he’d had to rebuild his whip from a section of the hide of his father’s stallion after _that_ match. He hoped he wouldn’t need to do the same _this_ time; he didn’t like having to use any of the hide he had stored away unless he _had_ to.)

He destroys two more replica tonfa as he works _desperately_ to keep the teen at enough of a distance to avoid needing to make use of his blade. He loses the cracker off the tip of his whip to spikes that he _should_ have expected, he supposed; they cut through his whip with a level of ease that makes him twitchy; while such weapons would be right at home in the hands of one of Squalo’s band of lunatics, he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the school’s head prefect wielding them. (He’d _seen_ Kyōya using them to break delinquents’ bones … but given no one warned him about the spikes, the Cloud clearly had enough self-control not to use them on civilians.)

“And _I_ thought that Skies were supposed to be a challenge.” He laughs.

“You’d have enjoyed Xanxus.” Kyōya circles him, and he turns, keeping his eye on the teen. “If you weren’t so clearly interested in small fluffy creatures, you’d have made him the perfect Cloud Officer for the Varia; the footage of him annihilating the Estraneo is spectacular.”

“You talk like he’s dead.”

“That’s what his father would like everyone to think; Squalo’s too sane and too reluctant to settle into my Flames for him to be dead - and he’s had no funeral, unlike his brothers.” Kyōya lunges, and he flips backwards and allows his blade to slip into his non-dominant hand. (He actually manages to cut the Cloud, and he shoves Lightning through his blade and into the wound - he can’t do it _often_ before the blade disintegrates - and then disengages, trying to gauge whether he should call the match.) “But he also hasn’t been seen for a decade, and Reborn’s been sent to break your fluffy little snack to harness like he tried to break me.”

“My fluffy little _snack_?”

“You want to eat Tsuna-chan. And not in a cannibalistic fashion. Hence ‘snack’. I think the fluffy and little are self-explanatory; apparently, Shamal’s itching to check whether they still have a growth spurt left, or if they’re going to stay five foot nothing.” Kyōya twitches; he suspects the Cloud would quite like Tsuna-chan to stay pocket-sized. He knows he would. “I know that _I_ quite appreciate how delicate he is -”

Kyōya _lunges_ , spikes receding from one tonfa, and it connects with the outside of his thigh … and he doesn’t have time to reinforce his skin the way he has been when other blows connect. He _feels_ his bone crack, and it’s unspeakably painful.

“… I yield, Kyōya.” His eyes cross as he builds an internal frame around the bone - the femoral artery runs far too close to the site of the break - and ramps up his own body’s production of endorphins and endocannabinoid to relieve the pain. “Do you have a Sun on staff? I’ve never been very good at dealing with bones; I can’t visualise them well enough to use Sky Flames to manage the repair. And the one time I tried to use Cloud Flames, I need a surgical repair for the way I screwed up.”

“Hn.” The Cloud actually looks relatively satisfied with their spar. “No.” He pinches the bridge of his nose; he hadn’t brought a primary Sun capable of bone-healing to Japan with him. (If he was going to spend weeks at a time in Japan, Romario had to remain in Italy to be his ‘voice’; he was the only one he could leave in command and have them be trusted by those they’d be giving orders to.) “… Trident Shamal?”

He wrinkles his nose, and the Cloud gives him a look that makes him twitch; he shakes his head. “Reborn blackmailed him into treating me when he was training him, and he _really_ doesn’t like treating men. I think he’s been abused in the past - he’s got very, very feminine Flames for someone born male. I prefer not to push his limits, even if I occasionally wish he would consent to being my Mist.” Kyōya raises an eyebrow, but he can feel the Cloud’s approval. “I have the pain under control, and the bone, um, splinted. It can wait for my flying visit to Sicily this weekend.”

“Hn.” It’s so clearly a ‘if you’re feeling masochistic enough not to seek immediate medical attention and it’s not going to kill you immediately, that’s up to you’ sound that he almost laughs. “Collect your clothes. The onsen is a short walk -”

He limps after the Cloud; the onsen is ornate and clearly at least as old as the nightingale floor they’d been sparring on, the water hot and sulphurous and flame-imbued in the same way the castle ruins were. (Kyōya’s eyes go _wide_ when he strips naked to sink into one of the pools, and Dio Mio that felt _good_.)

“You have no shame, do you, Dino-sensei?”

“I spent a decade under Reborn’s thumb. He beat it out of me.”[*] Kyōya strips, slightly more hesitantly and sinks into one of the other pools; he’s impressed by the detail in the teen’s tattoo art. “You’ll have to introduce me to your tattoo artist; their work is amazing. It looks like they’ve used the traditional methods, sì?”

Kyōya nods, sinking further into the pool until his nose is barely above the water. He relaxes into his own warm cocoon and takes the time to reinforce the lattice-work holding his femur together. They float there, in the warm dark onsen, until a member of the house-staff knocks on the frame of the door to the onsen.

“Your honoured mother instructed me to tell you that dinner will be served within the next twenty minutes. She requests that you escort her guest to the western dining room -”

The Cloud emerges just enough from the water to wave a hand in the member of staff’s direction, and the woman scuttles off. He hauls himself out of the water, putting his weight on his broken leg gingerly, and Kyōya sighs, shaping Mist Flames into a walking stick that’s surprisingly solid. “It won’t last more than a couple of hours.”

He takes it gratefully, weaving a touch of Sky into the stick to make sure he’ll recognise the moment when it’s about to fail, and uses it to limp across to the showers - he knows from experience that if he doesn’t rinse himself off, he’ll be smelling sulphur on his skin for _days_ \- and then gets re-dressed in his suit. Kyōya wraps himself up in another fresh yukata, divided hakama peeping out from beneath it. It, too, has an almost invisible chrysanthemum print.

“Haha-ue was clearly taking advantage of the cameras in the dojo; I assume that you’d find sitting seiza … awkward given what I did to your femur.”

“I find it awkward at the best of times; there’s a knot of scar tissue around my left hip from Reborn and a sniper rifle that even Shamal couldn’t untangle. Reborn has specialised in keeping people alive, not keeping them fully functional.” The Cloud scowls. “I can perform seiza if I have a stool, but unaided is beyond me.”

“And his ōyabun thinks he is a good candidate to train my Sky?” The words are hissed, and his lips twitch at the idea of Reborn facing the teen beside him in a righteous Rage. Kyōya pinches the bridge of his nose. “I will have to ask Fēng if he would be willing to cover moral studies. I believe the -” the word Kyōya use is both obscene _and_ obscure “- would otherwise try and insinuate himself into _my_ school. The permanent teacher died last night of a stab wound in Sapporo. And while I dislike him, my uncle will at least be able to teach moral studies in a way that will not leave my Sky conflicted.”

“His ōyabun sent Reborn on the word of Dame-Tsuna’s _honorable_ father.” He spits the descriptor. “For an intelligence officer, Iemitsu is unobservant at best and corrupt at worst; I’ll be seeking an audience with Timo when I head back to Sicily this weekend. Tsuna-chan is a complication that he clearly hasn’t accounted for.”

“Hn.” He’s led through into a European-style dining room, set with appropriate cutlery - also a relief; he needs to practise with hashi, though he’s getting better - and the four women already sat at the table, making him feel boorish. (He should have escorted either Ameko or Kasumi to the table, with Kyōya escorting the other.)

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to send for Shamal, Dino-san? I can feel the Lightning Flames you’re using to splint that leg -” he shakes his head, and the woman sighs. “ _Men_. Come be seated then; I had the kitchens incorporate your gifts into the meal. My chef was in raptures about the oil and the vinegar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omake: Explicit - [Onsen V1 - Kyōya/Dino - POV Dino](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219799/chapters/73756980) \- [return to text]


	4. Bone Healing, Wednesday & Sicily - Teen - Gen (Dino & his Own, Dino & Timoteo) - POV Dino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues on from the previous omake/chapter, covering Wednesday to Sunday for Dino. (Including Dino shouting at Timoteo.)

“Boss, you’re an idiot. What are you?”

“An idiot. In my defense, I was enjoying myself, and it was more constructive than shouting at Reborn.” His senior Mist (not his Mist Guardian, but the most responsible of his Mists) sighs.

“Almost _anything_ is more constructive than shouting at Reborn. Romario and I learnt that the hard way.” Bono taps a message into his Blackberry. “Let’s get you inside. And into the stable, I think; the gelding Nuvola sent with you is Sunny, and Shamal’s always tolerated you better around your horses.”

“Told Kyōya not to bother Shamal -”

“- and I’m overriding you, given you’re holding together your thigh with Lightning Flames. If you fly with it in that state tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to be agony by the time you’re over Mongolia, and the last thing your pilots need to do is negotiate a landing in Central Asia to patch you up, especially given that you’ll be off the radar shortly after takeoff from Chisote.” He hmphs, and Bono shakes his head. There’s a response to his message, and his Mist’s lips twitch. “Shamal’ll be about ten minutes; apparently, he needs to sober up, and Tsuyoshi’s going to accompany him. Let’s get you into the stable.”

His gelding makes an expression that can only be described as ‘what did you do this time’, and Bono laughs and sets up the cot that they kept in the block for _just_ this sort of reason. (Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d find himself in his stables, curled up on a cot with one - or more - of his horses leant against him. They worked _wonders_ for restoring his sanity or - in Nuvola’s case - his Flames.)

His gelding kneels beside the cot, and he ruffles Mario’s ears gently. “Stay put, Boss. I’m going to wait for Shamal and his escort outside. Why don’t you muse on your idiocy in the meantime.”

“I thought we’d established that it wasn’t _idiocy_ that drove me to fight Kyōya.” Bono makes a rude gesture, and he probably deserves that. (He certainly doesn’t deserve the horsey head on his chest, holding him in place. Mario was a brat.)

Shamal’s trailed into the stable by the tall form of the older of the two local Rain swordsmen and his own Mist; he relaxes, trying to go as horsey as possible, a valiant attempt to make sure Shamal’s comfortable in close proximity to him. (Reborn had _trained_ him into a standard masculine flame presentation, but with hindsight, as he’d shifted, he’d seen Shamal draw away from their forming bond to return to being stand-offish and distant.) “Bono tells me you went a little far during sparring with our resident Cloud.”

“I taunted him. But Tsuna’s Sealed, and I needed to work through my Rage in relative safety.” Both of the Mists sigh, pinching the bridge of their noses. “I splinted the bone with Lightning in the immediate aftermath; it’s a simple fracture in place, if that helps. But you know I’m shit at bones, Shamal.”

“I do. I don’t know why; they should be one of the easier things to fix using Sky Flames, especially after we ran you through an MRI so you could visualise them accurately.” Shamal prods the godawful bruise the blow had created. “Tonfa?” He nods. “Did you give as good as you got?”

He grins. “And some. Kyōya’s going to need stitches for the knife wound.” The Mist shakes his head, lips twitching in amusement.

“You’re right. You did splint the break fast enough and well enough that it’s an easy fix. You know the routine; calcium heavy diet for the next week, no more sparring, and you need to work on the physio for Reborn’s fuck-up, too; I can see the way the muscles are moving wrong.” He makes a face. “If you want to avoid a hip replacement and a keloidectomy, you need to keep up with the physio or get the hang of bones.” He pouts, and Shamal flicks through a case that had rapidly grown in size once removed from his pocket. “Needle or mosquito?”

“Needle. I think I’m becoming allergic to your mosquitos; they itch _abominably_ when they bite me now.” Shamal snorts and retrieves a vial and an oversized needle. (He still prefers it to one of the mosquitos.)

“Are you particularly _attached_ to that suit?” He shakes his head, curious as to where Shamal’s going with this. (He has his suspicions, especially given the man’s name.) The twin tiny squeaks when a Storm Flame significantly stronger than he’d expected _consumes_ the cloth indicate that no, Bono and Tsuyoshi hadn’t put two and two together and made four the way he had. The needle’s plunged into his thigh without warning, and he makes a small unhappy sound as the Flame-modified virus _burns_ through his muscle towards the break. “Tsuyoshi, I know I teased you about taking him for a test ride, but that might have to wait for twenty-four hours. That bone is going to heal better if you knock him out for the night.”

* * *

“Good morning, class. Before anyone asks, I had an entirely voluntary run-in with Hibari-kun last night; I’ll be limping for a few days, but will probably be back to normal by Monday.” Shamal had worked a goddamn miracle, but his bad hip was agonisingly painful this morning; he’d actually been tempted to dig out one of the walking sticks that Romario insisted on packing for him, but he needed to work through it so he could figure out _just_ how much physio he really needed. “You’ll have a substitute for homeroom every Thursday and Friday; I have some business to see to.”

“Maa, maa. Kyōya-jūkei clearly likes you, sensei. You’re walking after sparring with him.” His kohai’s Rain was an unrepentant _brat_ ; at least he was a discreet one - he’d have to set some time aside to teach him some tricks for his secondary.

“I’m well-trained, Takeshi-kun. And know what my teeth are for.” His kohai giggles - it’s a light, happy sound that goes straight to somewhere it shouldn’t - and he lets his lips twitch; he wasn’t going to go into the number Kyōya had done on his whip during their spar and the time he was going to have to devote to make a new one. “My substitute is one of my cousins, Bono; he will also be supervising your practice of the passive skills of English - and Italian for those of you who wish to acquire a third or fourth language.” Takeshi already had fairly good Italian; Tsuyoshi had clearly found a tutor for the boy, but he needed more practice with a native speaker, and Tsuna would need to develop an ear for it _rapidly_. “You have moral studies this morning. Please remember that Hibari-kun has chosen the teachers for your subjects; if your parents wish to complain about the materials being taught, they are to take them up with him.”

He limps out of the classroom several minutes early; he has Class 3A - whose classroom was on the other side of the building - and his own homeroom class would be safe enough on their own for a few minutes; Kyōya was lurking nearby, waiting to ensure that his chosen replacement for ‘moral’ studies arrived on time and wasn’t waylaid by someone as a result of his chibi status. (He wondered what the Cloud had told the Eye of the Storm to have Fon agree to stay in Namimori and reach so readily.)

* * *

"Remember what I said, Tsuna-chan, about the cleaning.” His kohai makes a face at him, but nods and he allows his lips to twitch.

“Maa, maa. No need to worry, sensei. Chichi-ue demanded I bring Tsuna-chan home with me so he can feed her up.” His kohai’s Rain has a mischievous smile on his face. “He tried to persuade me to bring my jūtei and Sho-chan home with me, too, but I think that can wait for another day.” He’s relieved that _someone_ has taken a _parental_ interest in Tsuna. (He doesn’t count; he’s too close to Tsuna’s age and too tempted by his kohai.)

“Now shoo, the lot of you. You have chemistry, and that’s in the labs today.” Most of the students take a hint and exit stage left as if pursued by one of Reborn’s bears, leaving him with only his kohai and his kohai’s Rain. “You really should stop using your Rain Flames to lull your classmates, Takeshi-kun. You’ve pushed Kurokawa-chan to the edge of going Active in response to your use of them.” Takeshi pouts at him, and he frowns at the boy. “If it’s conscious, stop. If it isn’t, I’m sure your father has exercises you can do to get it under your control.”

“Why would Kurokawa-chan go Active because of Takeshi-kun’s Flames?”

“If I’m not mistaken, she’s a Cloud, and her territory is her girlfriend, Tsuna-chan. Imagine what could happen to Sasagawa-chan if it was someone less ethical than Takeshi lulled Kurokawa-chan into somnolence?”

“I don’t have to imagine, Dino-sensei. I killed the culprit. Though he wanted to try drugs, not Flames.” He winces; Takeshi has that same edge to his voice that Squalo tended to gain when referring to a kill he’d particularly _enjoyed_ for whatever reason. “Shigure Kintoki said it was the most righteous first kill he’d tasted in years.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Go to Chemistry, brat. I think it’s just as well we’ve got the Eye of the Storm teaching ethics this term.” Both of them flee, following their classmates, and he gives thanks that Smoking Bomb hasn’t joined the class yet, then digs through his drawers, looking for what he needs to take with him to work on somewhere over Central Asia.

* * *

“Are you _sure_ you need all of us, Boss?”

“If I’m going to be back in time for ‘school’ on Monday, then we’re going to buy as much time as possible, Giacomo; I’m planning to run the jet at _full_ efficiency in both directions.”

His senior pilot makes a grumbly sound. Which was at least somewhat justified; running the jet on his Flames as much as fuel meant flying the whole journey on the stick as they still hadn’t figured out how to teach the auto-pilot to adjust for the added speed and lowered fuel consumption. (Verde was working on that, but the Lightning’s proto-AI were struggling with the transition from Flame-assisted to not and back again.)

“Be ready for take-off in two hours, Giacomo. I’ll be leaving Namimori in half an hour.”

“… you’re lucky you pay us so well, Boss.”

“Nuvola’s fussy about her rides; we wouldn’t be able to compete internationally if she wasn’t willing to fly.” His senior pilot snorts.

“Never change, Boss.” He disconnects the call.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t be travelling with you, Boss?”

“Like Romario needs to stay in Sicily, I need you to stay here. And you’re substituting for me in Nami-koko tomorrow, and Friday - English and Italian practise.” His Mist makes a face. “I’ve prepaid for dinner and sake for both nights, Bono. And lesson plans.”

“I still think you had better candidates to substitute for the teaching side of things.”

“Not whose Japanese is good enough, Bono.” He retrieves the lesson plans from his satchel and hands them to his Mist. “I’ll see you Monday morning; if you have the time, or can find someone _with_ the time, then the stable needs expanded. I doubt Nuvola’s going to be willing to be left in Sicily given the state of my hip.”

* * *

“You look _exhausted_ , Boss.”

“Japan to Sicily is _right_ on the edge of the distance over which I can pay battery for a flight. Even with one of our jets.” Romario sighs, his surrogate father clearly less than amused by his recent choices. “I know, I know. Straight to the stable block to nap with Nuvola. Can you get me a meeting with Timoteo; the situation in Namimori’s a mess, and he needs to intervene.”

“Saturday evening at the _earliest_ , Boss. You need to be on top of your game to deal with that one, and I’ve got a pile of paperwork an inch thick for you to work with and Squalo’s being squirrely.”

Of _course_ his former classmate was being squirrely just when he couldn’t spar with him. “Do we know why he’s being squirrely? I _really_ can’t spar with him right now.”

“Bono told me about _that_. What were you thinking?”

“That I needed a safe outlet for my Rage at the fact that Tsuna is Sealed. And a femininello to boot; I need to arrange for Gabriella to visit to give him - them - a crash course in one of the semi-acceptable forms on gender non-conformity in Italy. They’ll be amused to be tutoring the heir apparent to the throne of the Sky of Skies in how to fuck with the old boys that tried to crush them.”

“But still. Sparring with teenage Clouds is not your smartest idea. And even I can tell just how much your hip is bothering you; I haven’t seen you fail at de-planing that badly since we got you home from that abortion of a contract negotiation in Moskva.” He makes a face, and his Sun shakes his head. “I packed a half a dozen walking sticks for you, Boss; why aren’t you using one of them?”

“Because I didn’t want the Cloud in question to feel guilty. And because Shamal fixed the broken bone, this is entirely my fucked hip. And you know what the physio said about needing to walk without an aid -”

“- and I kneecapped that particular physiotherapist when he made you throw up during your rehab. Every one of those walking sticks is an offensive weapon, and if your Cloudy student can’t tell that it’s the leg he _didn’t_ break playing up, he needs the guilt trip, sì?” Romario lifts the arm on that side, and he hobbles in the direction of his stable-block with his surrogate father’s help. (His lead mare bullies him onto the cot in her loose-box, kneeling and leaning against it, and he submerges himself in her Flames.)

* * *

“Don Vongola -”

“- take a seat, Dino.” He bristles at the familiarity and the implication that he’s the man’s subordinate. “I hadn’t realised you were still having problems with the aftermath of the Moskva affair.”

“While Reborn is a fairly competent tutor, he’s never specialised in healing. Shamal says I’ll probably need a hip replacement and keloidectomy within the next few years unless I can master the aspects of self-healing I’ve been struggling with.” His blunt words make Timo flinch. “And Reborn and his current … project are what I need to talk to you about.”

“How is Tsunayoshi?”

“Tsuna- _chan_ is a sweetheart. But the Seal you applied to them has warped badly because Iemitsu _lied_ to you.” He watches Timoteo’s Flames rather than his face; the older Don has an excellent poker face, but his Flames are fairly expressive for one who knows how to look. “They were Active already; they had a Rain and a Cloud circling around them.”

Timoteo’s Flames ripple in distress, but the man’s face doesn’t shift at all. “Has Reborn not been successful in lifting the Seal?”

“It’s no longer a single Seal; it’s a series of blocks, wedged in what should be the pathways that their Flames would flow along. They’re going to take time and patience to ease free.” He hadn’t even been able to get a _grip_ on a single shard of the broken Seal. “Their Rain and Cloud have stayed with them despite the absence of their Flames.”

Timoteo raises an eyebrow.

“They have one of Ugetsu’s kin as their Rain and one of Alaude’s as their Cloud.” He’s surprised he hasn’t been called on the pronoun; he’s using the same one he would for Gabriella. “There’s a candidate for Sun Guardian in their class; Smoking Bomb’s made an impression, too … though there’s some question about whether they’re actually a Storm.”

“While I’m glad for the update, just _what_ are you here for, Dino?”

He rubs his temple. “I’m Squalo’s choice of company when he wants to get blackout drunk. I mean, that’s not the intention that those evenings start with, but they devolve into him sobbing, head in my lap.” The Rain was going to be furious when he realised he’d admitted to their arrangement. “Xanxus. Why isn’t he being groomed to be your successor? He’s clearly not dead; I’d have had Squalo wrapped up in my Harmony and in my bed for a decade if Xanxus was dead.”

“You _dare_.” Timoteo’s Flames are deadly calm, for all the vitriol in his voice.

“I dare. You’ve set Reborn on a civilian, one who has spent a decade or more _suffering_ due to your negligence. I spent a decade under his thumb, and I walk with a limp on my worst days, and I was neither Cloudy nor Electric when his torture began.”

“And yet you’re still _soft_.” The word is hissed. His own Flames crackle and spit at the accusation; that was precisely why he’d Activated a Lightning secondary, trying to Harden himself. “Xanxus is too volatile and too irrational to be Don Vongola - look at the Guardians he attracted and his choice of career.”

“Is. Not was. House arrest … or did you resort to wartime expediencies?” He has a horrible feeling he knows how Timo is containing his youngest child. “Never mind. Iemitsu’s child is more female than male; either you release Xanxus, or you begin the preparations to be succeeded by a _Donna_.”

The look on Timo’s face is _priceless_. “You’re _sure_?”

“I’m flying Gabriella out at the first possible opportunity.” His lips twitch, amused by the older Sky’s discomfort. “I’ll _happily_ give them Tiberia and Daniela’s diaries if you try to make Tsuna Donna against their Will.” Timoteo winces. “I’ll teach them _every_ trick in the book -”

“Out.” He levers himself up out of his chair, his hip throbbing insistently.

“Make your choice, Timoteo di Vongola. I’d suggest starting with cutting Iemitsu’s throat. At best, he’s incompetent; at worst … he’s either beholden to an enemy Familiga or clan, or to the Carabinieri. He’s cost you three children; have you considered that whatever crime Xanxus committed was Iemitsu trying to cost you the fourth?”

He limps out of the office before Timoteo can respond to his parting shot.

* * *

“You have all the common sense that God gave our geldings, Boss. Which is to say none at all, as that’s why they’re _geldings_ , not part of the bachelor herd or being bossed around by Nuvola or one of her sisters.” He pouts at his Sun. “Niccola told me _exactly_ what you said to Timoteo. I wouldn’t have arranged that meeting for you if I had realised you were going to stick your foot in your mouth and keep swallowing until you kissed your own ass.”

“… you need to meet Tsuna, ’Maro. She’s as sweet as apple pie, and the idea of Reborn torturing her the way he did me, without her having the sort of safety net that I had is a _nightmare_.” His Sun makes a face at him, one that says that his surrogate father understands _exactly_ why he’s intervening “Did you manage to get a hold of Gabriella? I think Tsuna needs to meet them fairly urgently.”

“Gabriella arrived about an hour ago, but you were still fast asleep in Nuvola’s loose box, and she snapped at me when I came to wake you up. You headed straight in here when you came back from the Iron Fort, and she’s been playing guard pony all night.” His Sun’s lips twitch. “I put Gabriella in the breakfast parlour, and brought you a change of clothes and a walking stick, which you are going to _use_ , unless you want me to beat you with it. Capische?”

He makes a face and sits up, and Romario hands him the clothes and the walking stick. “Give me twenty minutes, ’Maro.” His Sun inclines his head in acquiescence. “I need to shower; you know how fastidious Gabriella is.”

His Sun retreats out of the stables, and he leans on Nuvola and wobbles through to the wetroom he’d put in when he’d started recovering from the Moskva affair. Its door is wide enough for Nuvola to help him into the space, and he shoves the change of clothes into a convenient cubbie and does his best to wash the stink of the Iron Fort off himself, while his Cloud and lead mare guards the door to the space.

“If you want to come to Japan to meet Tsuna-chan, Nuvola, we’re departing at lunchtime.” His mare snorts, and he ruffles her ears gently. “I would like you there; I think you’ll make an impression on my kohai’s Cloud, and well, we both know the best rehab for my hip is going to be as much time in the saddle as I can stand.” His lips twitch. “Shamal’s there, too. Reckon you can help me keep myself equine enough to finally catch him?” Nuvola whinnies in something. Probably agreement. He hopes it’s in agreement; he’d quite like to lure Shamal and his new shadow into his Sky.

He limps his way up to the main house and lets himself into the breakfast parlour via its french doors. “I haven’t seen you limp this badly in years, Boss.” Gabriella looks amused; there’s a case by the door that said she was planning to accompany him to Japan.

“I tangled with a Cloud in the aftermath of discovering the mess Timo and Idiotsu had made of their proposed heir.”

“What does Nuvola think of you flirting with other Clouds, Boss?”

“She’s amused. I’ll be okay in a few days; I just need to remind myself to walk ‘properly’.” Gabriella pours herself a glass of orange juice. “I thought I was going to have to talk you into coming to Japan for a week or two; what did I say that was so compelling?”

“Oh, the idea of getting to teach the Vongola heir how to present themselves was more than enough to tempt me. And Elias can manage Naples for a few weeks.” He shakes his head, amused, and serves himself some of the Greek yoghurt and fruit with a rueful look at the more meaty options; he needed the calcium. “Leaving a baby femminiello untutored in Reborn’s hands is a level of cruelty that I’m not willing to engage in.”

“And you enjoy flirting with Shamal, too.”

“A girl’s got to have some fun, Boss.” His lips twitch in amusement. “He and I aren’t compatible, Flame wise, but he’s a lot of fun in bed.”

“You might have some competition there; he’s got a shadow he’s happily tolerating despite the Rain in question being mostly male-presenting.” Gabriella pouts at him.

“I didn’t think he’d ever get over _that_ issue.” He finishes his bowl of yoghurt and sighs, spooning himself out a second bowl. He knew better than to skimp on the calcium after a bone repair. “I take it he’s in Japan because Reborn blackmailed him into the same role he had when you were under the demon-chibi’s thumb.”

“Precisely.”

“You up for playing super-charger for the flight, or shall I do a portion of it too, so you’re not sleepwalking into work?” He makes a face. “I can probably do half the flight, if you promise to sling a hammock in Nuvola’s cabin and actually _sleep_ , Boss. I’ve been working on my reserves.”

“If you’re willing -”

“- I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t willing. And I know why you’re mainlining the yoghurt, Boss, but you need to either eat a couple of eggs, too, or a steak. It’s not just calcium you need for bone repair - it’s protein and heme iron, too.”

“Yes, Sorella.” Gabriella sighs and shakes her head, but her lips clearly twitching in amusement.

“Brat. If I hadn’t been a Sky, I would have been delighted to be one of your Guardians. You clearly need a whole set of minders to keep you out of trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smutty AU Dino/Tsuna omake, the Monday afternoon after this chapter: [Anything ...?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219799/chapters/73598256)

**Author's Note:**

> [*] follow to find a link to an explicit AU omake starting from this point.


End file.
